My parents are sleeping in my guest room. Our guest cottage is still not habitable, although we've taken steps. Since the AC was damaged, we decided to go ahead and install the kind of AC/heating system that would be better.
I have spent days cleaning. I confess that the house looks better when I clean and get it into some kind of passable shape.
I confess that I don't rouse myself to do the kind of deep cleaning I've been doing.
I confess that there are still parts of the house that could use some deep cleaning: the upholstered chairs need steam cleaning, for example. A rigorous housekeeper would move the furniture periodically to make sure that everything was clean underneath and behind. I am not that housekeeper.
I confess that I've used the hurricane repairs as an excuse: why clean, when we're going to rip it all up shortly?
I confess that I likely wouldn't have been doing this kind of deep cleaning on a regular basis, even if there had been no hurricane.
I want to believe in cleaning as spiritual practice, but I confess that it's not a spiritual discipline that speaks to me.
My house deserves a better partner than me. Sigh. There are many people who deserve a better partner than me.
But perhaps I am falling into the spiritual trap of despair. Maybe I assume that there's a better partner out there for my house, but I'm plenty good enough. I'm not the kind of housekeeper/homemaker that I might have been if I lived in this house in 1952, but I don't know anyone who is. Most people I know have outsourced that work.
So, let me delight in my clean house and my parents who are still healthy enough to visit. Let me find joy in a week that sorely needs some joy.
feeling the feelings…
1 year ago